


Without Him (i feel his arms around me)

by lastdream



Series: On My Own [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Demisexuality, M/M, Sexual Fantasy, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 10:24:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3606663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastdream/pseuds/lastdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demisexual Grantaire gets himself off to emotional fantasies about Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Him (i feel his arms around me)

**Author's Note:**

> Series written for this kink meme prompt: http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/14280.html?thread=14328264#t14328264
> 
> The demisexuality spectrum is pretty broad, but I wrote from about where I fall on it.

“Stay a minute, would you?” The words turn Grantaire back as effectively as a hand on his shoulder would have. A word from Enjolras is as good as an action, sometimes.

“Something you need, O Fearless Leader?” Enjolras shakes his head at the title, but it seems more fond than exasperated. A month ago Grantaire wouldn’t have believed it, but it’s been happening so often that it would be idiotic to ignore the evidence. 

And the evidence is saying that Enjolras actually likes Grantaire.

“I just wanted to talk with you,” Enjolras says. It settles somewhere warm in Grantaire’s heart, and he sighs just a little, under his breath. He said talk, not speak, so it’s not a serious matter. He wants Grantaire’s company.

Grantaire lays his jacket over the back of the seat next to him and then slides into it. Within the minute they’ve fallen into easy conversation. A month ago, it would’ve been difficult for them to talk without hitting on some point of contention and devolving into bickering and arguing, but they’ve learned the knack of it now. They talk about the movie all the Amis went to see on friday, about the merits of some fantasy novel they discover they’ve both read. They talk about nothing and everything, and every minute of Enjolras’s attention makes Grantaire just a little warmer.

Enjolras wants to spend time with him. He wants them to be together, at least in proximity, and that feels wonderful.

When Grantaire finally gets up to leave he almost blurts out something ridiculous like “thank you for tonight,” which would be a terrible idea. “Thank you” makes it out anyway, but he manages to play it off by stealing a drink from Enjolras’s glass and smirking. His stomach flutters a little at the fond-exasperated thing Enjolras does again in response.

“It was good to see you, R. Tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Grantaire rushes out, thinking that if he were any less comfortable with his demisexuality he’d be embarrassed by how arousing that simple fondness is. There’s still a little voice in there, somewhere, saying that it ought to be Enjolras’s (admittedly angelic) looks that make him hot, and dirty talk that gets him off, but Grantaire has learned to ignore that voice. 

Instead, he goes straight to his bed when he gets home, stripping off his shirt and pants like he would for bed. He pulls back the covers and climbs on, but doesn’t pull the blankets back over himself; it would be a pain to have to change his sheets again this week. Grantaire curls on his side and closes his eyes to focus his mind.

That look in Enjolras’s eyes, laughing when Grantaire said something funny, fond-exasperated when he said something simply ridiculous—

Indulgent. That’s the word. Enjolras indulging him; oh, that’s a good thought. Enjolras letting him be ridiculous because it amuses him, makes him happy to see it. Enjolras happy.

Grantaire sighs and feels his cock harden further. He could touch it now and speed up the process, but getting hard from a touch always feels so disconnected, somehow. Just touch brings physical release, but it’s hollow and passes after only a few moments. Instead, he reaches for more memories of Enjolras.

That warm, caring look Enjolras directed toward Combeferre in the last meeting, when Combeferre had come in late and the chief had cause to remember, again, just how much he needs his guide. That look didn’t belong to Grantaire, but surely Combeferre wouldn’t mind if he borrowed it for a little while. Enjolras’s whole face had gone soft and relieved and so happy to see the person he’d been missing. Grantaire can imagine for a minute that he’s the one Enjolras had missed, and it pushes a soft sound out of his throat.

Enjolras missing him, Enjolras caring that he was gone and glad when he was present again. Enjolras appreciating him and wanting him there every moment. 

He makes another sound and arches a little where he lies, hips shifting of their own accord. Now he’s ready for physical sensation.

For this, too, he pulls up thoughts of Enjolras, but these ones aren’t real like the ones he started with. These aren’t the things Enjolras has said but the things Grantaire wishes he would say, though he does his best to be true to Enjolras in his imaginings. It wouldn’t do to break character; it’s enough to turn him off completely sometimes, realizing that the fantasy he’s bedding is wrong in some way.

“It’s good to see you, R.” That one’s real, he said it just that evening when Grantaire walked in. He drags a long stroke up his cock and breathes a little heavier. “I missed you while you were gone.” The care in fantasy-Enjolras’s tone curls warm in Grantaire’s stomach. The fluttery happiness that he feels in response makes him stroke again, and again. He needs more.

“I wanted you,” Enjolras says, calm and confident like he always is, straightforward about what he wants and going after it like he always does. That’s so, so good, to imagine Enjolras not only wanting him but pursuing him, willing to work to get him. Not that he would have to.

“I’m yours,” he gasps aloud. It feels amazing to say it, to hear the words echo back to his own ears. He belongs with Enjolras, belongs to him. Enjolras owns him and takes care of him.

Grantaire speeds up the motion on his cock. It feels good, until suddenly it doesn’t, really. It isn’t what he wants right now. If Enjolras owns him, if Grantaire’s body belongs to Enjolras, then Enjolras will—

“Take me,” he says, and immediately giggles at himself like some twelve year old girl. It sounds ridiculous, and it calls up that indulgent look again and he breaks off laughing in another sound that’s halfway between a moan and a sigh. “Have me,” Grantaire tries, and that’s a little better. It’s ownership, at least, which makes him feel warm all over. It’s not what he really wants to have said, but he isn’t daring enough to say that out loud, not yet. He reaches for the lube on his bedside table and slicks two fingers of his left hand, using his right to slide his boxers down enough to give himself access.

He teases at his own hole like he imagines Enjolras might if he was feeling more playful than urgently aroused— it’s true enough that Enjolras likes wordplay and wit, so it’s plausible that he’d enjoy playing in bed.

Playing in bed. Grantaire’s heart swells with the implied care and sheer happiness and his breath goes shaky. Enjolras’s laugh plays in his head and he pushes a little harder at his rim. That’s different; it’s not playful anymore, it’s impatient.

Enjolras, impatient to be as close to Grantaire as it is possible to be. Enjolras wanting him as badly as he wants Enjolras, wanting him enough to just go and take what he wants—

Grantaire shoves the first finger inside himself and moans lowly at the sensation. Enjolras likes to work with his hands, to physically do things and get tangible results; he would enjoy stretching Grantaire. 

Enjolras enjoying himself, smiling in that smug way he does when he gets something exactly right. Enjolras trying hard to get this right with Grantaire, despite the fact that he already owns him completely.

“Look at you,” fantasy-Enjolras says. “Look how much you want me. You’re so good for me, sweetheart.” Grantaire gives his loudest moan yet. He could be good for Enjolras, he could, he’s sure of it. He could stay where Enjolras put him and take anything he gave him, and oh! the intimacy of being with him like that, of having Enjolras’s will grafted in between his thoughts and his actions. He thinks of how attentive Enjolras would be, and what care he would take with Grantaire’s needs.

Enjolras taking care of him, Enjolras learning and knowing what he needs. Enjolras caring so much, trying so hard to look after Grantaire, knowing Grantaire belongs to him.

The fantasy-Enjolras is curled up behind Grantaire, almost spooning, as he continues to finger him. He knows that Grantaire likes the fingers to push as deep as they can and scissor as they slide, stretching him as they go, so he does. Both fingers thrust in deep and move exactly as he needs them to, because Enjolras would know him so well. Enjolras would learn this as studiously as he does everything else.

Enjolras finding Grantaire important, worth knowing inside and out. Enjolras taking the time to learn him. 

Grantaire moans again.

Finally he’s ready, he’s stretched enough and brave enough, and he moves a third finger beside the first two. The only lube on it is what’s dripped from the first two, so it’s going to burn a little, but that’s okay. 

He likes to imagine Enjolras just a little desperate for him, just enough that he doesn’t get quite enough lube on his cock.

“M-“ Grantaire stutters and his chest tightens a little, but he keeps his three fingers positioned, ready the moment he can say what he wants to. He takes a deep breath. “M-make love to me,” he whispers, barely a sound.

“Of course, sweetheart,” says the fantasy, and Grantaire thrusts his fingers inside and groans loud enough to wake his neighbors. He puts the back of his right hand to his mouth to stifle the sound. Sweetheart, fantasy-Enjolras had said. It’s something Grantaire hadn’t tried before, not sure he could match it to the Enjolras he knew, but then he’d used it in conversation (the way old people said boyfriends or lovers, what even, Grantaire thinks with swelling fondness). Sweetheart, he thinks. Enjolras caring for him, using endearments, whispering sweet nothings.

“More,” he says helplessly.

“You’re so good, Grantaire. It’s wonderful being inside you, being so close to you. Your heart is racing for me; I love that you want me.” Grantaire can’t stop himself from moaning again and again as he thrusts his fingers faster, imagining Enjolras impatient to come, impatient to bring Grantaire with him to that height. “You’re so good, so lovely.”

Grantaire frowns a little. He knows what he looks like, and he knows Enjolras wouldn’t lie to him even in this.

“You feel so lovely,” the fantasy corrects. “Tell me how you feel, pet.”

Enjolras enjoying being with him, Enjolras happy. Enjolras caring for his feelings and his pleasure.

“So good. So good, Enjolras, you’re perfect.” The Enjolras in his head immediately launches into a half-imagined tirade about the imperfection of man that makes him ache with fondness— he’s almost ready to come.

“Grantaire, sweetheart,” fantasy-Enjolras says “Tell me how you feel.”

It’s commanding and caring at the same time and Grantaire whimpers, thrusting even faster. He turns his face into the pillow and moves his right hand down to his cock, touching it just lightly, like Enjolras might if he didn’t want him to come just yet. Enjolras enjoying this too much to want it to end, wanting it to go on forever.

“Enjolras!” he cries. The pillow doesn’t do a lot of good, but he doesn’t care at this point. “I—“

“I feel so good being with you, sweetheart— my love.” Enjolras moves even faster and then stills to press hard against Grantaire’s prostate. “I love you, Grantaire.”

“I love you too!” It’s so much louder than he meant it to be, but he’s coming hard, shaking to pieces between the fingers against his prostate and the fingers on his cock and the sweet agony of the imagined ‘my love’ and ‘I love you’, so he can’t care like he might otherwise. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeats, over and over again, as the aftershocks pass through him. 

When it’s over he feels a little guilt, like he always does, about fantasizing about Enjolras the way he does, using not just his body but his mind and his heart to get himself off, but mostly he just feels relaxed and so, so satisfied. It takes a lot of effort for him to stretch up and grab a few tissues from the bedside table, and when he’s done cleaning he flops back to the bed bonelessly.


End file.
